Echoes
by livingondaydreams
Summary: And everywhere you go, you hear echoes of what you've done. :: Annabeth's journey back through the Labyrinth after Mt. Saint Helens. Annabeth-centric, but Percabeth. Multichap. Abandoned, might complete later. R&R
1. Instinct

**A/N: I've always wondered what happened to Annabeth on the way back through the Labyrinth, after Mt. Saint Helens. And since no one else has done it, I decided to come up with my own version. Told in second person, present tense, which is kinda new for me. I'm experimenting. Also, this is _not_ a oneshot, so stay tuned. Enjoy, and please leave your thoughts in a review!  
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><p><strong>Echoes<strong>

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><p><strong>I. Instinct<strong>

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><p>"But you'll be killed!" you whisper furiously, wishing that you could scream it at him, but you'll both be caught if you talk too loudly. You can't believe he's doing this. This idiot, this complete and utter Seaweed Brain is going to sacrifice himself to save you. You know he'll lie and say that he'll be fine, that he'll find a way out, when both of you know perfectly well that he won't be fine.<p>

He's going to die.

You've both been in this situation before, many more times than you care to remember. But the odds have never been this bleak. There's no escape. At least, not for him. Your survival instinct is nearly overcoming you, telling you to flee, and you know that it's going to win.

Both of your faces are flushed from the heat of the volcano. A bead of sweat runs into your eye, and you blink it away.

"I'll be fine. Besides, we've got no choice." His voice is shaking, but you can tell he's trying to hide it. He's scared. You've seen the look enough times to know.

You memorize the way he looks, because you know you're not going to see him again after this, and your stomach drops. Under that messy, sweat-soaked hair, his green eyes are bright, too bright, and determined. You can tell from the stubborn set of his mouth that he's not going to let you stay and fight.

He wants you to live more than he values his own life.

And suddenly, another instinct overcomes you, and your lips collide with his. It's nothing more than a peck, but your heart aches anyway. You realize something: you don't want him to die. You knew this before, of course. Wasn't that the point of this whole argument? But now it really hits you. If he dies—and you know he will—you'll be devastated. Because you might kinda sorta like your best friend more than you should.

Before you start thinking too much (you're running out of time so, so quickly) you grab your invisibility cap from your back pocket.

"Be careful, Seaweed Brain." Your voice is quiet, strained, barely audible over the roaring of the volcano.

You sneak just one last, searing glance at him. His eyes are wide, and his mouth is partially open, as if he can't believe that you just kissed him. To be honest, you can't believe it either. The second the cap touches your head, you turn invisible. You turn and start running, your feet making clanking sounds on the metal platform. The ladder is only a few feet away.

"There!" You hear the gravelly sound of a telekhine's yell. For a second, you twist to see what's happening, but then you jerk yourself back. If you see, you'll probably end up going back to help him fight, and you can't do that.

The entrance to the Labyrinth is still in the same place, the little blue triangle glowing faithfully. Your thumb slams into it, and the bronze door creaks open slowly.

Over the sound of your own frantically beating heart, you hear screaming. Horrible, awful, agonized screaming. You know exactly who it is, but you keep running. Your eyes squeeze shut, because they're starting to sting, and you can't—won't—cry. You trip, cursing yourself for your stupidity—why were you trying to run with your eyes closed?—and regain your balance. The laughter starts, barking and gleeful, and you don't even want to think about what they're doing to him. The screaming continues, worse than before, and you keep running.

You feel like you're being torn in half. You want to go back, fight them off, stop them from doing whatever they're doing to hurt him. He's your best friend. He held up the sky for you. He's dying for you, right now. You _need_ to go save him. But at the same time, you need to escape. The survival instinct is overruling everything now, telling you to go, to run and never look back until you reach safety.

You keep running. You notice the tunnels getting hotter, and the only part of your brain that isn't panicking thinks that it must be from the volcano. Your breath is coming in frantic, painful gasps, and you're not thinking about a destination. Not yet. You just need to run, run away. You need to escape thought, but that's impossible. You're a daughter of Athena. Your brain is always working. And right now, your brain is telling you that Percy Jackson is as good as dead.

The ground is still rumbling and the roaring is loud in your ears, and you're not sure if it's still because of the volcano or if the Labyrinth is just playing tricks on you. Suddenly, the floor jerks out from under you, vibrating violently, and you skid to a halt against your will. _Earthquake_, you think. And then: _Oh, gods. No. Nononononono…!_ Because the volcano couldn't have just erupted. Percy was still inside. And that would mean…

_And lose a love to worse than death_.

You stumble, falling to your hands and knees, scraping your skin against the rough surface, and you don't get up. Oh, gods. That's what it meant. How could you have been so stupid? Of course it was Percy, of course it was _now_. You're not obtuse enough anymore to deny that you like him. (_Liked_ him, you correct yourself.) And now, he's not only dead, but he's dead because you abandoned him. You ran away, even when you heard him dying. You saved yourself when he needed you most.

Your arms give out and you clutch your head in your hands. Your eyes are stinging more than ever, but you're not delusional enough to tell yourself that it's only the smoke. You know better, now.

This will always haunt you. You're sure of it. Even now, the sounds of his screams are playing on repeat in your mind. You hear the laughter of the telekhines over and over. You can't stop your brain from forming pictures of what might have happened. Lava. Blood, claws, blades. The horrible possibilities could go on forever. And you won't stop seeing them until forever comes.


	2. Feeling

**A/N: Why does writer's block always decide to visit me when I have nothing else to do but write? Argh. Well, I hope I did well with this one. It's not as angsty as I wanted it to be, since Hephaestus's awkwardness pretty much killed the mood. Anyway, I hope you like it. Review?  
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><p><strong>Echoes<strong>

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><p><strong>II. Feeling<strong>

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><p>Eventually, you remember that you have a job to do. You remember that there's something else going on outside of your personal sphere of guilt and pain and self-hatred. You remember that you're in the Labyrinth, the single most dangerous place in the world.<p>

And, naturally, it's the godsdamned spider that reminds you.

The automaton starts wriggling in your pocket, like it's trying to say, _get up and get back to work, you pathetic slime_. Shuddering, you take it out with two fingers and gingerly drop it on the floor in front of you. After its legs pop out, (_it's not real it's not real it's not real_) the thing starts scuttling back toward Hephaestus' workshop. (Why, oh, why did it have to be a spider?)

The Labyrinth is surprisingly calm as you follow the _thing_ (you're trying not to think of it as one of Arachne's children) to the workshop. You wonder if the maze is being nice to you only because it knows you're already torturing yourself enough. Somehow, that almost makes it worse—you'd rather be thinking about dodging horrible traps or running from deadly monsters than thinking about the volcano and the spider and… and Percy.

Thinking about him makes it harder to breathe, so you try to focus on the task at hand. You have to get back to the forge, tell Hephaestus about the telekhines, and keep looking for Daedalus' workshop. You have to continue your quest.

The distraction isn't working.

You can't get those last few moments out of your head. You keep seeing Percy's eyes, his face after you kissed him…

Suddenly, you realize that you're staring at the entrance to the workshop, and the automaton is curled up by your feet. You pick it up, cringing, and open the door. Hephaestus rolls out from under that same old Corolla, looking over at you grudgingly.

"So?" he asks bluntly. "Who's using my forge? And weren't there more of you?"

The words get stuck in your throat—you can feel them choking you, their sharp edges making you want to swallow, but you can't because they'll slice you to ribbons if you do.

"I…" Your voice cracks, making a sound that reminds you of the air being let out of a balloon. You take a deep breath and force yourself to speak. "Grover and Tyson went looking for Pan. We found out that telekhines were using the forge to make weapons for Kronos, but they found us, and Percy—he told me to get out, and then it—and then it exploded, and Percy was inside—"

Your throat swells up from the lacerations made by the knifelike words, and you can't talk anymore. You just stand there, trembling, still in shock, as Hephaestus frowns.

"People break too easily," he sighs. "Shoulda used another automaton."

He looks over at you curiously, like he's trying to figure out how you work, what gears and wires make you act the way you do.

"You made it out, though," he says in his rumbling voice.

That's what sets you off. _You made it out_.

"Only because of Percy," you say. Your voice sounds hollow at first, but it slowly rises and becomes more hysterical as you keep going. "He's the only reason I got out—if it hadn't been for him, we probably both would've died in there. Are you saying he wasn't—wasn't _strong_ enough or, or _brave_enough to make it out? He's the bravest, most—he's the best—he's _dead_! He's dead, and it's all my fault! All because I couldn't—it's all my fault…"

You've slowly crumpled to the floor, your back resting against some kind of workbench, and Hephaestus is staring at you looking utterly lost. He only knows how automatons function; machines don't have feelings. They can't feel guilt or pain or grief or heartbreak. You're jealous of them—they never have to experience _this_.

"Er," the god says. "I didn't mean it that way. Your friend is a very brave hero for deciding to sacrifice himself. It's not your fault."

You're probably lucky that he hasn't vaporized you out of pure confusion.

Eventually, you clear your throat. You can't really believe that you just had an emotional collapse in front of a god—in front of Hephaestus, of all people. But aren't you more than entitled to a good breakdown?

"Thank you, Lord Hephaestus," you say, getting up uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, for, um…"

"I should be thanking you." His voice is gruff and grudgingly impressed. "For discovering who's been using my forge. Telekhines, you said?"

You nod. "They were making a really… _strange _blade. It was curved, and it looked like it was made from more than one metal."

"That's bad. Very bad," he mutters, stroking his flaming beard. He plucks another minuscule bronze automaton—you pray that it's not a spider—off his bench and throws it over to you. "Here. This will lead you back to your camp. Good luck."

You murmur a thank you, bow, and then exit the workshop. The Labyrinth lies before you, dark, twisting, sinister. _Come out and play_, it whispers. You shudder.

Already, you're lost.


	3. Choice

**AN: Writer's block and laziness. No excuse. It's been four months. Minus a few days, but even so, _four months_ is way too long to not update something like this. Sorrysorrysorrysorry! I'll be faster next time. Like, maybe only three months or something.  
>Kidding.<br>Well, hopefully you enjoy it even if you _have_ been tortuously waiting for so long. Review please? Even if it's only to rage at me for keeping you waiting. IT DOESN'T MEAN I DON'T LOVE YOU.**

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><p><strong>Echoes<strong>

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><p><strong>III. Choice<strong>

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><p>There's something almost tangible in the damp, musky air of the Labyrinth. It mingles with your heavy breathing and sweat and fear and guilt, becoming just as much a part of the maze as the shifting walls.<p>

Helplessness.

You hate it. You absolutely _loathe_ feeling inadequate and unknowledgeable in any way. That's not how children of Athena are supposed to be. You're intelligent and logical and quick-thinking and you _always_ have a plan.

But the Labyrinth knows that about you, and it exists to trick and confuse you. Make you doubt yourself. The fewer people there are, the easier it is, and now your party of four has been reduced to one. One stunned, guilty, grieving daughter of Athena alone in the Labyrinth.

The only sounds are your footsteps, the steady gasp of your breathing, and the ominous creaking and groaning of the tunnels. You think you hear a constant whispering, mumbling sound (it almost reminds you of your first quest, hearing Kronos' voice from Tartarus) coming from ahead of you, or maybe it's behind you, but now it's _right next to you_— No, it's just the maze trying to trick you. It does that, you remind yourself. All the same, you can't rid yourself of the feeling that someone or something stalks you as you hurry through the long passageways.

You can't stop thinking about Percy.

You're focusing on the maze, of course you are. It would be foolish not to, and die because you got lost. But as you stand at a fork in the tunnels, struggling to decide which way to turn, you feel him by your side, as if a part of you has been amputated but you still feel the pain. You have a feeling that he would tell you to go left. You listen to him, for once.

The left tunnel is dark, damp like a cave. Something about it makes you wary, and you raise your knife cautiously. (Of course your knife has been drawn the entire time; you're not stupid enough to walk around Daedalus' Labyrinth without a weapon out.)

That's when you hear it. It's just a soft whisper, and your ears wouldn't have picked it up if you hadn't just paused to reconsider coming down this creepy tunnel.

You hear your name.

In _his_ voice.

Your pulse is all you can hear. Your lungs suddenly stop working, your head is pounding.

This is not possible. He is dead, he died in the forge and even if he hadn't he would have been _way_ too badly injured to be able to catch up to you so soon. The idea that he is here talking to you is absolutely ridiculous and you are ashamed that you thought for even a moment that it was possible.

A warm breeze brushes past your elbow, making the hairs on your arm stand on end. You're frozen.

This is not possible this is not possible thisisnot—

You hear a ghostly chuckle, and then your name again, but this time it's _definitely_ not Percy's voice. Percy never sounded so cold, so bitingly sarcastic, so …creepy. This voice, that laugh: they don't belong to your friend. They are deeper, older, more sinister and unnatural—

The wind shoots forward and suddenly dives down into the floor, but you don't really know how you know that because you can't see wind. The maze has gone darker than Tartarus and deathly silent, which it has _never_ been.

You hold your breath, trying to hear something, anything, in the soundless blackout that reminds you of those times when the power goes out and you're all alone.

And then, almost leisurely, a flickering white figure rises up right out of the spot the wind died. You immediately know what it is; a ghost. The ghost of a man. But not Percy. Definitely not Percy.

The ghost is wearing ancient Greek robes that are, from what you can tell, intricate and detailed so he was definitely powerful when he was alive. He's wearing a crown. He has a pointed beard. His eyes glitter. His handed are neatly folded in front of him, but not in a prayerful kind of way; you can easily imagine him as the antagonist in some ancient drama.

"Hello," he finally says. He smiles a little bit, and you continue to stare at him and analyze his every move. Ghosts are not to be trusted, you remind yourself. "Welcome to my Labyrinth."

_My_ Labyrinth.

"Minos," you guess. It's not much of a guess; you're pretty sure the only person other than Daedalus who would ever refer to the Labyrinth as theirs would be the legendary (but certainly not mythical) king of Corinth.

He throws a hand over his eyes and sighs, "Finally! Finally _somebody_ remembers my name. Oh, they used to. They used to know _exactly_ who I am. But now…!"

You just raise your eyebrows. This certainly isn't the reaction you expected from the notorious King Minos of Corinth, Judger of Souls. You expected him to be at least more dignified and collected. Strangely, you feel disappointed.

He seems to realize his embarrassing lack in composure, because he clears his throat and continues with so much bravado that you'd never think he had just been ranting. "Where was I? Ah, yes. You see, my dear," he pauses to leer at you. You glare straight back at him. "This is my maze. And I don't appreciate intruders.

"I've been watching your little quest for a while—it's always good to know what's going on in your kingdom, of course—and, well, I must say it's gone too far. I've already disposed of most of your—"

"Ex_cuse_ me?" you snarl. You clench your knife tighter. "Nobody hurts my friends. Not even some washed-up ghost king who thinks he owns a maze because he ruled over a kingdom that _doesn't even exist anymore_. Now, you're going to tell me what you did to my friends, and then—"

"I," he interrupts you proudly, "am not going to be ordered around by a little girl." He sneers, the corners of his mouth curling up into a self-satisfied smirk. "And to think I was going to give you some _very useful _information…"

You hate it when this happens—when people dangle knowledge right in front of your nose because they know you can't resist getting even the smallest lead in this enormous puzzle that your life has become.

You quickly, automatically analyze the situation. Two options.

One: take the bait. Best outcome: gain potentially useful information. Worst outcome: Minos tricks you by giving useless or harmful information.

Two: ignore him and move on. Best outcome: avoid deception and danger. Worst outcome: pass by useful information.

You imagine Janus's smirking faces in front of you, tossing that key around and whispering, "_Choose. Choose. Choose._"

Your eyes squeeze shut for a moment. Concentrate. Push your pride aside for just this moment, you tell yourself, and think rationally. He might know something about Percy. Or he might be trying to trick you. Or both. Or neither. Or, or, or…

Minos is grinning at you. Leering. Smirking.

In this moment of indecision, you suddenly know exactly what you will choose and why and that you never really had a choice in the matter. Once again, you feel helpless, and furious at yourself for feeling helpless.

"Tell me."


End file.
